It’s in every
photograph.
Symbolically,
the apple core
had more appeal
than a horse
or a heart,
I’d say because
it reminded me
of the stars
that were taken away
while I was not looking,
my unseen pointers,
those five signs
lost, fast eaten up.
Yet vertically intact
the feminine form
retained its seeds —
better this way round,
though it required
patience.
There was time.
Those childhood
summers were too long
anyway, meant
dreaming of the day
I would hold
me whole
and bring home
white blossom
was all there was.